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Personal Narrative: Living With Type One Diabetes

Decent Essays

During Christmas vacation, three weeks before my 4th birthday, I began eating more; more than I had and more than I should. I was always hungry, extremely hungry. Hungry, thirsty and tired, painfully dragging myself to and from day to day activities. I gorged myself with food, yet my pants became looser, arms thinner and stomach flatter. The world swirled around me; I couldn’t stand without stumbling. On December 23, 2001, I entered the hospital kicking and screaming, tired and alone. Since that day, I haven’t seen food the same way. When I look at food, I don’t recognize it as food. I see sugar—in the form of carbohydrates—sketched on a multidimensional graph with fat, proteins, serving sizes, exercise, and sickness every day. I wasn’t …show more content…

A healthy pancreas pumps out insulin in exact doses, masterfully managing the level of glucose so it never raises too high, which could lead to various complications; or too low, which could lead to a coma or kill someone on the spot. My pancreas, however, no longer makes insulin; it can’t. For reasons no one fully knows, my own immune system turned against itself and killed off the cells that produce …show more content…

Look closer though, notice where my fingers are calloused because I prick them 10 to 12 times a day to test my blood sugar. Look at the bruises on my arms and legs where I inject myself with insulin 5 to 7 times a day. Diabetes is a blessing and a curse, saving me from the stares and pity, but keeping the severity of the disease—and the difficulty—hidden as well. I hate my diabetes. I wish I could take a vacation from it and eat a slice of cake without calculating carbohydrates. But, I can’t. So instead, I’ve learned to flip things around, and use the challenges of diabetes as an inspiration to live as fully as I would if I didn’t have diabetes. Living with Type One is an exercise in judgments, measurements, willpower and self-restraint.
For me, the most difficult part of having the disease is accepting the fact that my body will never be perfect; I will always have bad days, and worse days, and there is no way for me to “win.” Like everyone with diabetes, I will have to keep it—every second, minute, hour, day, until a cure is found. Over the past 14 years I’ve learned to control my diabetes without allowing it to control me, and to not let the attack on my pancreas become an emotional attack on myself. As I begin to mature, so does my understanding of my diabetes. For now, instead of focusing on what I don’t have, I focus on what I do have.Also, of course, I dream of a day where I can once again think of food as simple

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